


Oh Simple Thing

by FlamingoSkull



Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Death, Domestic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Lot of Original characters in this one especially later, M/M, Minor Character Death, Only one death though, Trans Conductor, Trans Male Character, death is talked about a lot in this fic so please keep in mind, original character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23578315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamingoSkull/pseuds/FlamingoSkull
Summary: A death in the Conductor's life changes things.  For better or for worse is up for debate.
Relationships: The Conductor/DJ Grooves (A Hat in Time)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 213





	1. it'll happen when you don't expect it

**Author's Note:**

> So, folks on the discotrain server and on tumblr wanted me to post my other multi fic idea I had for this pairing. I plan to work on both this and Roses Are Falling, and I honestly am unsure which one will be completed first. Prrrrobably Roses Are Falling, but WHO KNOWS TBH. Anyway, in case you didn't take heed of the tags, please not that this fic is going to heavily talk about the death of a loved one (original character, not a canon character so not major death). If that bothers you, please do not read this fic. Please take care of yourself folks.
> 
> Also, wanna thank Skeleslime-Phantom on tumblr for making the comic that inspired this whole idea and who has been super interested in it. Also thanks to him and my other friends for letting me ramble about things in calls, y'all are rad.

In the middle of the day, during filming, the Conductor's phone rings. Grooves is already smirking as his eyes trail over to that side of the studio, ready to see the owl screech in rage and maybe even throw it. Old geezer must have forgotten to turn it on silence like he typically does, absolutely hating the noise during filming.

But, he answers it. And that is what makes Grooves halt his own filming with a raise of his hand. Both sets stop, the penguins and owls looking over at the Conductor in confusion as he holds the phone up, standing out of his director chair. His back is to the owls and penguins, but Grooves is able to see his face still, a bit of it anyway. 

His ears flick and Grooves watches his mouth frown harder as he listens. Then, his ears are dropping, his mouth slightly open as he seems to freeze. His phone slowly lowers. The studio is quiet and Grooves feels uneasy as he starts to get up.

"Boss?" One of the owls quietly asks and the Conductor flicks his ear. He doesn't look at them and after a second, mumbles, "Early leave today. I need to head home."

He starts walking away, leaving his owls glancing at each other and Grooves knows something isn't right. The Conductor never has work end early, so prideful of his workaholic nature. The worry in Grooves grows as he follows, making a motion to his boys to cut filming.

"Conductor?" Grooves catches up to him and the owl doesn't react to him, his walk determined as he goes to the lobby. "Con."

His ears flick and he pauses to look at Grooves, his face stoic. The penguin falters before he asks, "What about the train?"

It's the first thing he thinks of to ask, but he wants to ask a million things. What happened? How bad is it? Is it one of the grand kids?

Conductor hums quietly. "They've seen me do it lots of times. They can run it."

And that is another bad sign that makes the penguin frown harder. The Conductor is so attached to that train, that the mere idea of someone else running it usually has him hissing and yelling, telling them to peck off.

"Where are you going?" Grooves asks and the Conductor huffs and leaves through the glass doors, and Grooves is quick to make sure he follows.

"Home." Conductor mutters as he keeps walking and Grooves clicks his beak in annoyance. "You're  _ walking  _ home? Con, just let me drive you."

That gets his ears perking up, as he spins his head over to look at the penguin. They stare at each other and Grooves finds himself standing taller. He knows the Conductor is stubborn, but whatever is happening doesn't sit right and he can't just let the fool  _ walk  _ home in the heat.

"...okay." He says softly, almost inaudible. Grooves is shocked at how little convincing it took (and it makes him more unnerved at how the Conductor is being), but he doesn't question it. He leads the owl to his car, parked near the front of the studio.

The cherry red convertible has the hood up, Grooves having learned the hard way long ago he doesn't want to sit in it after work when the sun has been glaring down on his seats. He unlocks it for him and the Conductor says nothing as he climbs in.

The drive is painfully quiet. Grooves is desperate to ask more, having never seen the Conductor so quiet before. Every time he glances at the other, he seems to be looking at his hands. The only time he looks up, it's when his home is into view.

It's an old thing, looking straight out of one of his western films. A long forgotten garden is full of weeds and a porch has a wobbly railing. A chair is on said porch, a dusty whisky bottle next to it. Currently, an old hawk sits in the chair, his straw hat low on his face. He lifts it when the car pulls up and Grooves recognizes the man.

They've barely spoken, but Grooves is aware of the farmer that lives a mile away. The old hawk, Curtis, has sometimes been at the award ceremonies, always dressed in the same classic tux.

"Howdy, Amos." The hawk shakily stands up when the Conductor and him leave the car. He takes his hat off, clutching it to his chest. His yellow eyes glance at Grooves, making him pause before he says, "I...saw the ambulance rushin' over and...well...figured you be at work so I checked on the lil ones as I waited…"

"Thanks." Is all the Conductor says and Grooves looks between them, processing the words  _ ambulance _ .

"...is...she?" Curtis asks very quietly and the Conductor freezes, his hand on the door. His shoulders sag and ears go low on his head. Instantly, Grooves realizes and his heart clenches as he reaches for the Conductor. He grips his shoulder, and the owl only lowers his head.

"...I'm sorry, Amos." Curtis says, getting his hat back on his head. "I'm here if ya need me, just give me or the missus a call…" He nods at Grooves and takes his leave, his feet shuffling off the porch and onto the sand. He makes his way to a rusted pick up that sputters to life. The Conductor doesn't move until those sounds are distant, and he quietly slides into his home.

Grooves follows him, not feeling right to just leave him. He quickly spots the kids on the couch, all sleeping and piled on top of each other. They're oblivious to everything, to their grandfather who silently moves towards them, to Grooves just watching. 

"Amos." Grooves says and he wants to tell the owl he's sorry, wants to give him some sort of comfort, but the strained, "don't," that leaves the other just has Grooves sighing. He just watches as the Conductor gently places a hand on one of his grandkids, Sorely, he realizes, because the little one wakes up by nipping at that hand. Sorely has always been bitey. He chirps and bites at his grandfather's hand, who doesn't care. The noise of their sibling seems to wake two more, who are quick to push their head against Conductor's hand or stretch and nuzzle against him to try and sleep again.

"They need to eat when they wake up." Conductor mumbles, not moving away from them.

"I can help." Grooves says and the Conductor seems to just sink onto his knees, moving closer to his grandchildren. They nip and play with his ears, and nuzzle against his beak, chirping excitedly when they wake enough to realize who is waking them up. 

"Okay." Is all he says to Grooves.


	2. memories and a song

This house has memories. That’s what Grooves keeps thinking, as he walks to the kitchen, still able to hear the kids babble to their grandfather. There seems to be pictures lined up on the walls, all of various things. A sepia photograph of an owl, her eyes wide as she looks at the camera. A picture next to her, of her again, but years later, when she’s squinting more and her feathers have gone gray. He can spot the Conductor in some of these photos, from various times in his life, his eyes being drawn to one.

It’s a photo in color, of him and a little girl, her feathers similar to his. She stares at the camera with wide, green eyes, while the Conductor is looking at something else. He’s actually dressed casually, instead of in his usual tie and slacks attire. Grooves glances over at the Conductor on the couch, who at least is actually sitting in it instead of on the floor. His ears are drooping, and he doesn’t react to one of his grandchildren biting at his ear.

The penguin distracts himself by getting food, opening the fridge and looking at the contents. It’s full of stuff, juice and milk and leftovers. He spies a number of various meats and is a bit surprised by it, so used to just his own diet of seafood. 

“They have premade stuff in containers. Top shelf.” Conductor says from the living room and Grooves spots the red lidded container, grabbing it and opening it. Inside are various thinly chopped meats and vegetables. He can spy some type of white meat there, along with tiny peas and carrots. The rest seems to be a mix of things, and Grooves walks back over to hand the container to the Conductor.

He grunts, gently nudging his grandkids off of him as he drags his coffee table closer, setting the container on it. The kids crawl there and grab at whatever they wish, loudly eating. Grooves watches them for a second before he glances at the Conductor. “...So, what are you going to eat?”

“Not hungry.” Is the quiet response. Grooves can only sigh, sitting down next to him. They watch the children peck and eat, nipping at each other when they start to become playful. One of them jerks his head around, until he seems to spot his grandfather and crawls back over to him, settling against him. Grooves recognizes the child as Harper, a grayish yellow one who seems to always favor the Conductor, likes being near him. Grooves smiles a little as he remembers the man giving the child a small rubber knife to chew on when he started to get bitey, and how the child apparently loved the thing.

The only real noise is the children, and the Conductor seems to prefer that. The owl makes no motions to start conversation, in fact he seems to just watch his grandchildren, as they eat and play, babbling excitedly. Grooves lets them crawl on him, and take his sunglasses, finding himself smiling as Dahlia seems to be obsessed with them, the girl cooing in joy as she wears them.

“She sings to them, before bed.” The Conductor suddenly speaks, as if he’s remembering something. Grooves looks at him, his brows furrowed. The owl’s ears are pinned to his head, his frown deepening. He opens his beak, only to close it and sink into the couch. After a second, he says, “They sleep easier.”

“Do you...want me to sing to them?” He asks before thinking and almost flinches when the Conductor faces him. They stare at each other for a moment, before he’s sighing and nodding, “Yeah, thanks.”

They round the children up, one by one, both him and the Conductor holding three of them. Since they’re so young, they share a single bed upstairs, that has a gate that keeps them safe. They pile against each other, seeking warmth, and their chirps quiet down, like they know that they’re meant to be sung to right now. Grooves supposes, they do, in a way, even if they’re all so young, barely over a year old.

“Did she sing a certain song?” Grooves asks.

“No.” The Conductor says quickly, “sing whatever you want.” He goes to close the blinds and Grooves ignores how shaky his hands seem to be. The penguin looks down at the little owls looking at him, waiting for a song. He thinks over the list of songs he knows, trying to find one that would be a good lullaby.

When he thinks of one, he clears his throat, suddenly feeling nervous with the Conductor watching him.

_ Moon river, wider than a mile _

_ I’m crossing you in style some day _

The children’s ears flick as they listen, looking up at him in wonderment. He can feel the Conductor next to him, their shoulders touching.

_ Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker _

_ Wherever you’re going, I’m going your way _

Russell yawns, his bright orange feathers so noticeable even in the dark. He nuzzles against his older brother Atticus, who continues to stare up at Grooves.

_ Two drifters, off to see the world _

_ There’s such a lot of world to see _

One by one, their ears start to droop, their heads falling as they begin to breathe softer. Grooves lets his voice get softer, as little Sorely tries to stay awake to listen.

_ We’re after the same rainbow’s end, waiting, round the bend _

_ My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me _

Finally, all of them snooze peacefully, huddled together. They look calm, content with keeping each other warm instead of the blanket they have. Grooves keeps watching them, until he hears the door opening. When he looks over, the Conductor is no longer in the room. The door is now ajar, letting in the only light in the room.

Grooves glances back over at the sleeping children and sighs.


	3. offering

Grooves finds the Conductor in the kitchen, a shot glass on the counter. He’s gripping a bottle of scotch tightly, his hand shaky as he struggles to open it. Grooves stands in the doorway, watching him for a moment before he says, “Con.”

“What?” He huffs. He finally just bites down on the top, jerking it off with his beak and spitting it onto the floor. Grooves frowns at the display, as the Conductor’s hands still shake as he begins to lift it.

“Are you okay?” He’s quiet as he asks it. He, honestly, already knows the answer. He can tell with how the other is acting, how quiet he’s been, his ears barely moving, his hands constantly shaking. Grooves has known the Conductor for a number of years now and it’s always been easier to read his emotions.

“I’m  _ fine _ .” Is the answer Conductor gives him, jerking his hand back and not reacting to the spilt scotch, “Why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m an adult, I can handle things-”

“Conductor.”

“I’m more worried ‘bout the wee ones, y’know, they’ll have to live without a mum-”

“Con.”

“An’ oh, wow, heh, gotta look at a babysitter for the lil blighters, since they need one now-”

“Connie.”

“She was sick, and I should have been much more prepared for it, heh, silly me, f-forgettin’ things, should of-”

“ _ Amos _ .”

The owl jerks his head over at him, his beak opening and closing. The scotch empties onto the counter, missing the glass completely, as the Conductor looks at Grooves. His ears flick before he looks down at the wasted alcohol, and his ears drop against his head.

“I should have been here.” He says it almost too quiet to hear, his voice sounding strained. His shoulders sag and it seems to hit him, suddenly, as a shuddery breath leaves him. “I could have  _ done  _ something.”

His shoulders shake as he hunches over onto the counter to rub at his face. Grooves steps over to him, gently touching his back. The Conductor has always been loud about his feelings, but he’s guarded them in his own way. At least, the ones like this, where he barely reacts to anyone else, his feathers tight against his body to make him seem smaller, his voice quiet and shaky.

“Peckin’ fool.” He mutters, a trembling whine leaving him as Grooves runs his flipper up his back. Suddenly, the penguin has the Conductor against his chest, hugging himself as he buries his face into his chest. He freezes for a second, shocked, before he’s bringing the owl even closer.

Shaky whines leave him, his whole body seeming to shiver as a sob is dragged out of him. He’s soon nuzzling against Grooves desperately, and the penguin just picks him up, bringing him over to the couch as the Conductor tries to muffle his crying.

“It’s okay.” Grooves mumbles quietly, trying to soothe the other best he can. He’s never really dealt with others crying, and especially not the Conductor. But he tries, because he knows how much family meant to him, how many days he had spent before this trying to help his daughter the best he could. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is!” He whines, gripping Grooves’ coat, “If I didn’t go to  _ peckin’ work _ -”

He shushes him, and leans down to gently press his beak against the Conductor’s head. He whimpers, but only tries to lean harder against Grooves, who slowly rubs his back. After a moment, Grooves starts to preen him, gentle motions against his ears and head, knowing that the motions have always calmed him down personally.

They spend so long like that, the Conductor sniffling and whining softly as Grooves softly rearranges his feathers. Soon, he feels the other combing his claws through the feathers on his chest, ears now flicking as he stays close to Grooves.

“Not sure what to do now.” Conductor sighs against him, “Can’t watch ‘em properly when I live so far from the studio.”

“There are homes close to the studio.” Grooves mumbles.

“As if I could afford one that could house all them ankle biters.” He grumbles, a small part of his usual self showing up again.

Grooves stays quiet, still rubbing the Conductor’s back, who makes no move to pull away.

A long time ago, before he had even met the Conductor or even moved to this planet, he had left his family. For various reasons, the main one being that they had a huge issue with...well, the people he wanted to be with in life,  _ men  _ he wanted to be with. Since then, DJ Grooves’ family has been the various friends he’s made, and he’s never thought about his family since leaving them.

The Conductor, from what he’s seen, is a family man in every sense of the word. Raised his kid, helped raise her kids, spends the majority of his money on them in some way. It’s one of the few appealing things about the owl, whenever he rambles about his family. And while they both make the same amount of pons, Grooves has been able to save much more of it than the Conductor has, easily.

“We could split the difference.” Grooves offers and a part of him wants to take it back instantly, especially when the Conductor pulls away from him, ears upright as he stares.

“You  _ can’t  _ be serious-”

“I am- I mean...look, it’s for the kids, darling. Besides, ain’t like I’ll be missin’ my apartment.”

“ _ You’re _ offering to live with  _ me _ ?”

“For the kids, yes.” He mentions it again.

The Conductor stares at him, his ears flicking once, twice, three times before he sinks into the couch. He hums, crossing his arms. Grooves rubs his neck, suddenly feeling nervous as he clears his throat, “You’ll live closer, I can help out, it’ll have more room…”

The Conductor sighs, running a hand over his face. He seems to debate before he holds out his hand, muttering, “Fine, peck neck.”

Grooves smiles wide and shakes his hand.


	4. keep blaming yourself

He honestly isn't sure what he's meant to be feeling.

The house is now full of boxes. Grooves, moon penguins, and express owls are somewhere packing it all up into a truck so it can...go to a new house. The Conductor still can't call it home, not when he's been here since he was a lad.

His mother had bought this home with her own money, had worked through sweat and tears to give them a place to call their own. He's had birthdays here, friends sleeping over, had his first kiss on the front porch with his childhood friend before she moved away. The Conductor knows this home, every part of it.

He raised his daughter here, when he was barely out of high school. This place has been  _ his  _ for so long, a place that was comforting. Warm, inviting, familiar in a way that the house itself is family.

The walls seem so bare now, pictures put away. It seems so open and empty, gutted out. The Conductor hugs himself, shuffling down the hall as he looks at it all, tries to remember. There's still marks of crayon on the wall, from when his daughter would draw, and then from her own children. The Conductor could never erase them, wash them off, even if his mother always clicked her beak at the marks. They felt too precious to him, a memory he didn't want to erase.

Though, in a way, that's what he's doing. He's leaving this house to live somewhere else, where he can actually take care of his grandchildren. His head painfully reminds him he deserves this, for not being here more. For working so much, for not making her rest more, not trying hard enough to find a babysitter who didn't quickly refuse after hearing they would need to care for six kids. This is his own fault, and his daughter and grandchildren are the ones who are suffering.

He lets out a shaky breath, shaking his head briefly to see where he's walked to. He had just let his feet take him, too lost in his own thoughts to care or notice. The door in front of him is one he recognizes quickly.

A long time ago, it had an open and close sign, because his daughter thought it was funny. Now, it's just an oak door. He stares at the golden knob.

It's been so long since he's been in here. His daughter rested here when she moved back with her kids, and he gave her privacy. He slowly opens it.

No one has gotten to this room yet, and he's thankful. He knows he'd end up crying if he saw nothing here, even if that sounds pathetic. This room was  _ her  _ room, and it would have hurt too much to see nothing here. To see it all gone, packed away somewhere. 

Posters still hang on the wall from when she was a teenager, of the bands she loved. The walls are still the same moody blue from back then, him and her never having a reason to change it as they got older. But when she was younger, she loved changing the walls. Red, maroon, green, lilac, there have been so many colors. 

He steps in and can see the knicks in one wall, where she practiced throwing a knife as a teenager. And he notices new pictures hung up on the wall, of drawings her children have made. She put them up over her bed, that's neatly made. Three pillows rest on her bed, one made of the molting feathers of him and his mother, another just of hers, and the smallest one is from the first molt her children have. It wasn't even four months ago, and she had been so excited to stuff them into a pillow.

Her closet is open and he can see the clothes she grew to favor as an adult. Casual, easy to move in. She started to like skirts again, after wearing them one day to do laundry. She still loved her graphic tees and ripped jeans, though. He sees so many boxes and journals in that closet, stuffed away to make room.

The Conductor spots a photo album resting on a shelf there and his ears perk up. He goes to reach for it, flinching when the book ends up falling instead. It thuds to the ground, opened up near the middle.

Two pictures are there, side by side, and in his daughter's scratchy handwriting is  _ Like Father, Like Daughter. _ A rainbow flag is colored in the corner, and he gently picks the book up to get a better look.

In the photo of him, it's of when he was younger, much younger. Back in his early days of college, before he had even legally changed his name to Amos. His band mates are there, on the back of a rusty pickup truck. Pins gleam in the sun on their jackets, and one of his friends dyed their feathers into a rainbow for the day. He's sitting next to his best friend at the time, Phil, who has his arms covered in tattoos and looks like he could break any one of his friends in half. Around his own shoulders in the photo is a trans flag, and he's smirking at the camera.

It had been his first time to a pride parade, and all his band mates had shuffled into that car as one of them drove. 

In the photo of his daughter, she's wearing a tank top that is the colors of the bisexual flag, laughing as her boyfriend kisses her cheek, a pansexual flag around his neck. He remembers that lad, how they were always around each other, playing games or just running out in the woods. There was a time he was worried, but, as the years rolled on, he realized his daughter caused much more trouble than the spotted owl she dated.

He runs his fingers over her face in the picture. Her feathers were so bright back then, red like the setting sun. Her eyes were bright, big and full of wonder. She had so many dreams and wanted to do so much.

He had told her that, when her kids got older, she could still do them. She could still see the canyons and mountains, still could take her photos and paint her pictures. She had been so happy at the idea and would excitedly talk about how she would show her kids everything when they got older.

Her kids won't have that now. The Conductor closes the book, his claws lightly scratching it as he thinks of his grandchildren. How will they grow up, without her? What voice will they attach to her? Will they want to look at photos, listen to their grandfather ramble?

Will they hate him later, when they're older and know he wasn't here more to help her?

He wouldn't blame them.


	5. this place isn't really a home

The new house is...very modern, is probably how the Conductor would describe it. The owl is so used to ranch style housing that he’s honestly unsettled by the design of this one, so big and taking up space, with a large grassy yard instead of dust from the desert. He guesses this is better, in a way, having an actual fenced off yard instead of just a whole desert to run off into.

It’s...menacing, in a way. This large house, so far from where he was raised, the home his mother got. But he has to suck it up, has to shove all that anxiety down, because this place is walking distance from the studio and has plenty of room for his grandkids.

Conductor sighs heavily when he realizes this is going to be the home they have memories in, not the one their mother was raised or where he was raised. Another thing being taken from them because of him.

Grooves and the kids are already inside, waiting for him to bring in the last box. He pays the owls and penguins who helped them move, not saying a word to them and is thankful they don’t try to talk to him, give him sympathies he doesn’t deserve.

The kids are in a play pen, one with high walls because the Conductor warned Grooves beforehand that the little buggers know how to climb those pens and will gladly do so if given the chance. Sorely is of course trying to bite at his brother Russell, who is growling and swatting at him, those bright orange feathers all ruffled up. Dahlia is attempting to climb up the walls already, only to bounce back down safely, her ears flicking. Harper and Callum are currently chewing on the rubber knife, today being a day Harper shares apparently. And Atticus, the first hatched, is just staring out of the pen, his long ears flicking as he seems to whip his head back and forth around the house, as if realizing this place is new.

He lets himself look away from them as he looks at the rest of the house. It’s a horrific mix of furniture that him and Grooves had owned, paintings Grooves has and photos the Conductor has on the walls, too many lava lamps all over the place (he counts four just in the living room and kitchen), and the quilt his mother made laying on top of a-

Very hideous couch. The most hideous couch the Conductor has ever seen. He stares at the abomination, and wonders what the bloody hell it’s meant to be before it clicks that it’s a  _ hot pink  _ zebra print couch. He almost drops the box he’s carrying staring at it, absolutely mesmerized with how Grooves could own something so disgusting looking.

The penguin walks into the living room and the Conductor remembers his fashion style, seeing him in some gaudy tank top covered in glitter and shorts. Right, okay, now he can see why Grooves would get this ugly thing.

“Grooves,” He says, and it must be the first thing he’s said anything in awhile because his throat is dry and Grooves jumps, “what is that?”

Grooves glances at the couch. “A gift from a friend.”

“Are they blind?” That has to be the reason, because he can understand why garrish Grooves would buy the thing, but a  _ different  _ person? No, peck no. 

Grooves scoffs. “The couch looks great, you’re just not used to color. It took so much willpower not to tell the penguins to paint your furniture, darling.”

“It doesn’t  _ need  _ to be painted, it’s fine. It’s  _ oak _ .”

“Very boring.” Grooves hums, taking the box from the Conductor before the owl can react. Still flabbergasted by the couch, Conductor doesn’t react right away, his ears flicking before he’s snapping, “Do ye  _ mind _ ?”

“I’m taking it to your room.” He says and the owl stomps after him quickly.

Conductor should argue about how he should pick his own room, but, honestly, the mere idea of a place being called  _ his room  _ in this house just feels wrong. This place isn’t a home, it’s just some box they’re putting stuff in.

His feelings don’t get better when he sees what’s meant to be his room. It’s bigger, with plain white walls and a single window. His bed, shelves, and desk are already there, and they just look out of place. His ears droop as he realizes how much he hates the size of it, how easy he’ll be able to feel alone in a room like this. He rubs his arm, noticing how the pillows on his bed have been neatly placed and the feathers from before having been cleaned off. He hates that, wishes he had packed it up himself, but he had been busy with his daughter’s stuff. But, he’s glad he was the one to pack it up, because he’s sure he would have snapped at anyone who went in her room.

“You said you were fine with this house.” Grooves sighs, and he realizes he must see how he’s reacting. The Conductor clears his throat and mumbles, “It’s...fine, really. Just…”

Empty, depressing, reminds him of how he’s losing everything.

“...Just a bit big is all.” Is what he decides on and he doesn’t look at Grooves, not thinking he can deal with any pity from him right now. 

“...Yeah.” Grooves speaks quietly and the Conductor hates it, hates how soft Grooves has been treating him, as if he’s about to break at any second. “Well, I found a babysitter who I think is alright, if you want to look at that.”

He notes the subject change and takes it, glancing at Grooves holding his phone out. The owl can’t help but grimace at the thing, not at all used to those smartphones. But, he takes it, looking down to see a profile on some...er, app, he thinks. It shows the picture of a hummingbird, a young looking one with the name Blaine Harris in bold, and under them being a list of traits and references.

“They grew up with a lot of siblings, apparently, and didn’t seem to be bothered by the idea of taking care of six kids.” Grooves informs him and he glances at the penguin.

“Huh.” Is all he can really think of saying, mainly because he’s surprised how easy it was for Grooves to find someone to babysit. The Conductor has always had such lousy luck with it. Though, Grooves has always been a better talker than him. The penguin is actually charismatic, instead of just pretending on screen like the Conductor can. The owl knows how to act and play a part, but in real life he’s far too impatient to bother with fancy words or buttering folks up.

“...Are you doing okay?” Grooves asks him and the Conductor can’t help but sigh, hating how folks keep asking that of him. A part of him wants to scream at them about how in the world could he be okay, why would he be? His daughter is dead, he’s had to move out of his home, he has six grandchildren to raise who are going to grow up to hate him, in what world would he be okay?

But, he can’t say that, none of it. Because he already feels so pathetic, already knows he’s being rightfully judged for being a horrible father. He should be, with not being good enough, not being around more. Pecking DJ Grooves has already seen him break down, and he’s sure the penguin thinks he’s some weak, pitiful, shabby old owl.

“I’m fine.” Is what he mutters. Grooves sighs, but doesn’t say anything.


	6. distractions

Moving everything into the home really wasn’t hard. The hardest part for Grooves was just living in a house, to be honest, instead of an apartment. The last time the penguin lived in a house even close to this size was when he was with his parents, back in those depressing days. At least here, he can add color and ignore the looks the Conductor gives him. Though, he wouldn’t mind if the owl snapped at him these days, considering how quiet he’s been.

Today seems to be better, the man even letting Grooves feed the kids fish, even if he’s making a face at it. And, the penguin gets to watch as the Conductor seems to focus on hanging things up on the wall. The man has several photos, more than Grooves would have honestly thought. All of family or past events, even some of the Conductor when he’s younger and Grooves keeps finding himself looking at those photos often, a bit mesmerized to see the old owl  _ actually  _ young. He just...seems to have always been old.

He glances at the new photo the Conductor sets down on a shelf and ends up staring, absolutely shocked to see the Conductor playing  _ drums _ . “You were in a band?”

That seems to surprise the owl, who falters and whips his head around at the penguin, pausing. “...Ye, back in college.”

“What kind of music?” Grooves is interested now, always having been a sucker for music and is surprised to have seen the Conductor partaking in it. Yes, the owl will play an acoustic guitar sometimes, but that’s about it. He’s never mentioned bands or drums or anything like that.

“Ah...just stuff, ya know.” He hums, his ears drooping as he rubs his arm. “It was ‘while back now, can’t honestly remember.”

Grooves frowns, his eyes drifting back to the photo. The Conductor is on the drums, his signature smirk wide and his feathers the shaggiest Grooves has ever seen them. On the bass is a short looking crocodile, several tattoos along his arms. A lioness strums a guitar, her ears littered with piercings. And on the mic is an alpaca with wool long enough it covers his eyes.

The Conductor gently picks up the frame, his ears flicking before he says, “The croc there was my closest friend, Phil. We met after he almost ran me over with his truck and we screamed at each other for a good hour, then he laughed it off and offered to buy me food.”

“And you accepted?” Grooves scoffs, but he’s smiling, making room for the owl when he sits down next to him. Harper crawls into the Conductor’s lap, snuggling up against him as he keeps talking.

“Of course I did, free food. What, ye thought I was made of money back then?” He points to the lioness, “That’s Reggie, she actually helped me with Ronnie back then. Heh, barely knew how to take care of the lass, but Reggie was the oldest of three and knew all about how to handle kids. And the hippie in front is Levi,” he laughs a little, “he was the youngest of our lil group, and oh lord, did he love to start stuff with others. All of us constantly had to step in so some rich peck neck wouldn’t beat the tar outta him.”

“You certainly sound like a ragtag group.” Grooves chuckles, his arm sliding behind the Conductor. The owl happily leans against him, and Grooves blinks as he realizes what he’s doing.

Oh, he didn’t realize...what this would look like. He feels his face heat up a tad, as he looks over at the Conductor. He doesn’t seem bothered at all, still smiling as he looks over the photo, ears twitching and just leaning against Grooves. It’s...the happiest he’s seen the other in a while, to be honest. He glances at the photo, ignoring how his heart is hammering.

“You know, darling, you should invite them over to see the new place.” Grooves offers, figuring that it’d be a good distraction for the other.

“Oh…” The Conductor trails off, gently setting the framed photo on the coffee table as he clears his throat, “I...haven’t kept in touch. Movie business got in the way and, well, probably best I don’t bother them anymore.”

“Oh, come on, I’m sure they’d love to hear from you.” Grooves watches as the Conductor rubs his arm, going quiet once more. The penguin’s shoulders sag a bit as he sees the other and can only watch as the Conductor begins to focus on his grandson. He gently picks the child up, slowly starting to preen him. It’s the Conductor’s way of wanting to end a conversation, to ignore it and not bring it up again. Grooves has become very familiar with the tactic.

He sighs instead. “Think the kids want a movie?”

The Conductor flicks his ears and glances over, just in time to see Dahlia tackle Atticus to the ground, who seems to have accepted this fate with a frown. “Hmm. They do seem rowdy.”

So, like most conversations that make the Conductor go quiet, this one is shoved away. Grooves lets the owl distract himself, knowing that it’s not really his place to try and question it, or help him honestly. Even if they are living together, Grooves himself has stated it’s just for the grandchildren.

The movie, something animated, easily distracts the children, as they stare up at it. Harper stays next to his grandfather, as the rest of his siblings huddle in front of the television. Grooves glances over at the Conductor, who doesn’t move away from Grooves. The owl stays pressed against him, keeping him warm as they watch the movie.

“How late is it?” He murmurs near the ending of the film, and the penguin glances at a clock. “Late enough for these ones to go to bed.” They certainly look tired enough, yawning and slouching against each other more. Harper actually has fallen asleep, resting peacefully against the Conductor. The owl hums and picks him up, standing up to gather more of them. Grooves helps, following the other.

For now, the children share one room, a nursery for now. When they get older, this home has enough rooms for them each to have their own space, another reason they chose this place. Tired enough from the movie, they’re all dozing off by the time they settle into the crib.

“Probably will snooze soon as well,” Grooves hums, “Or at least get some reading done.”

“Ah, wait.” The Conductor grabs his sleeve. The penguin stops in his tracks, brows rising as he sees the other. His feathers are puffed up, his face red, and he can see him gulp.

“Can, you, uh-” He struggles with the words and Grooves waits patiently, furrowing his brows in confusion. It’s odd to see him stammering like this, always having been someone who prefered to just rip a band aid off, so to speak.

“...It’s been hard to sleep.” He finally says and he looks defeated as he says it, his shoulders sagging. He looks so tired, as if this was the hardest thing for him to admit. Grooves stares at him for a moment, before he slides his arm around the owl’s shoulders, bringing him close.

“I, ah,” Grooves clears his throat, “would it...be better if I was with you?”

“Maybe.” The Conductor is still so red, but he doesn’t move away from Grooves, in fact, he tugs on his shirt, forcing him closer. “I just need a distraction.”

The penguin blinks, but he leans closer, humming softly as his hand slides down the Conductor’s back. The man shivers at the touch and he presses his face into Grooves’ chest.

“What kind of distraction?” He mumbles as the Conductor cups his face, running his claws over the feathers along his neck.

“You know what kind...just for tonight, yeah? I know ye despise me,” Grooves wants to interrupt him, but he’s so distracted by those hands running along his neck and shoulders, “Just so I don’t have to think about everything before I sleep.”

Grooves should say no, that this is not at all a good way to deal with this. He’s very familiar with this kind of thing, to try and use it to not think about things. He’s done it several times in his life, and some of them have even been because of the Conductor himself, because Grooves doesn’t know how to react to these feelings that have been rising up more often.

But, he’s been thinking of this a lot, been thinking of the Conductor leaning against him, murmuring against him. The owl is touching him gently, running his hands over his chest and nuzzling against him. And he tilts his head up.

Grooves knows what he’s going to do and if he was smart, he’d push the other away. But, he’s weak. He’s desperate. And he wants to help the other, wants to help him sleep better and not think about all that is happening. His heart is hammering as he meets the Conductor half way and they kiss. The Conductor turns it desperate quickly, tugging Grooves out of the room and into his own bedroom. He melts into the kissing, tasting smoke and whiskey on the other, as he leans against him. The Conductor gently pushes him onto the bed, and Grooves closes his eyes as they once again kiss.


	7. what are we doing with ourselves?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took awhile to post, I've been distracted with watching bad movies on the discotrain server and now my voice is going out so I have to take a break and finally could write fjdskljfdsal Thank you to everyone reading.

The Conductor woke up when the sun was glaring in his window, already a bad sign. He's used to waking up long before that blasted star, able to at least grab coffee before it's rising up. Now, he just feels tired, wants to stay in this warm bed and not think about the day.

Or Grooves, he realizes. He feels a heat on his back and realizes quickly who it is. He rolls over, staring at the sleeping penguin. He looks nice, even when sleeping. The Conductor stares at those smooth feathers, the soft blues and clean whites. He wants to reach out and run his hand through them, through Grooves' hair. Wants to cup his face and see that lovely smile.

The penguin is probably even more sick of him, especially from last night. Conductor rubs his face, sighing as he remembers what he did. Idiot. Pecking idiot-

"Amos." Grooves mumbles, and the owl's ears twitch at the sound of his voice, sounding so tired. "You okay?"

No, not really. One really isn't doing well when they break down and beg their rival for any kind of distraction, when they kiss them desperately. He should have drank, or done literally anything else. This was a mistake, it was wrong to do.

"Talk to me." Grooves sounds desperate now, as he brings the Conductor closer. He should shove him away, say he doesn't have to. He's stronger than this.

He built his own train and he fixes it himself whenever it breaks. He paid for college himself. He taught himself how to use a camera so he could make movies. He taught himself to cook. He raised his daughter by himself.

And now she's gone, when it should be him that's dead instead of her. It should be him buried in the desert, it should be him who is gone instead of her, rotting away. He failed her, failed his grandchildren. He won everything else but failed at the one thing that actually matters.

He feels a whine rising up and wants to bite it down, hating it. Hating how tired he feels, how much his chest hurts. He hates how Grooves looks at him sadly, as if he deserves sympathy from him. The Conductor deserves to feel like this, he doesn't deserve someone holding him close as his breathing hitches and it becomes hard to hide his sobbing. He doesn't deserve someone like Grooves, who is speaking softly to him.

He hates how warm the other is, how he smells like mint and vanilla and home, how it feels so nice to be held by him. He hates how much he likes Grooves.

"I should be the one dead." He whimpers into Grooves' chest, and he hates his own voice, how whiny and high it sounds, "She should be alive instead of me."

The Conductor knows it's true. He's been skipping death for years now, having gotten hurt so many times. He does his own stunts, has broken so many bones, has gotten so many scars. He literally plays with fire in his movies, works with explosives. He should have been dead so long ago. Instead, it was Ronnie. Who had six children, who worked at a museum, who was learning to sew so she could make clothes because it's cheaper. He shouldn't be here, shouldn't have outlived her. It's not fair for a parent to see their child being buried.

Grooves keeps holding him, shushing him softly. He feels his beak running through his feathers and gasps as he realizes he's being preened. He clings to the penguin, his heart clenching as he slides his arms around him. Grooves is so gentle, so kind, holding him like glass. He wishes Grooves was cruel to him right now, wishes he would shove Conductor away.

But he preens him, gently fixes his feathers. He comforts him so nicely, and he feels Grooves' kiss the corner of his mouth, making him shiver. 

"Stop being so nice." He mutters, as he gets another kiss on his cheek. Another kiss down his jaw, to his neck, making him tilt his head back.

"That'd be hard to do." Grooves says with a soft chuckle, starting to preen the feathers on his neck.

"You should  _ hate  _ me." He whines, because Groove should. Why is he doing this? Why is he bothering with this? Why is he treating him so sweetly, making him feel so nice?

"I feel the opposite." Grooves whispers, pretty blue eyes fluttering as his beak nips the tip of the Conductor's. The owl's heart hammers at the realization of what Grooves said, what he just admitted. No, no they're rivals. They aren't supposed to like each other. Grooves and him are so different, they shouldn't be attracted to each other like this. He shouldn't be eagerly waiting for Grooves to kiss him.

His face feels so warm and when the penguin leans closer, he quickly stops him by getting his hand on his beak. Grooves blinks and looks at him, and those lovely eyes look so hurt as he whispers, "Oh…"

"I...I need more time." He mumbles and Grooves gives him a soft and pained smile. He nuzzles against his hand and says, "Take all the time you need, sweetheart."

They should talk more, actually discuss this instead of ignoring it while also cuddling and preening. But, the Conductor's ears flick and he hears the sounds of his grandchildren waking up, chirps coming from the nursery. Grooves and him stare at each other before finally the penguin gets out of bed, and it takes so much for the Conductor to not stare at him, not try to memorize that gorgeously spotted back. 

"Coming?" Grooves looks over his shoulder and the Conductor shyly slides out of bed. His face heats up when he sees Grooves looking over him.

He needs to focus on his grandchildren now and not the weird and wild feelings he has towards Grooves. 


	8. trying to help you

Grooves has been in several relationships, short and long ones. He knows he’s attractive, lots of birds having told him this. He knows that people like that sort of thing, the idea of dating him, having a night with him, making a show of it that they got to be on his list of...well, exes. There are days Grooves thinks about this constantly, how he’ll always be sort of just the penguin used as a distraction, that nothing he does will ever be good enough for a real relationship. And, honestly, he knows that the Conductor sees him like this as well, just some sort of thing to distract him from his current grief.

But can Grooves really be blamed for his attraction? That he likes the Conductor? This owl who constantly screams, is such a grouch? ...Okay, maybe it is sort of his own fault he likes him. The Conductor certainly isn’t on any lists of  _ eligible bachelors  _ (not like Grooves has checked and seen himself on there and was disappointed to not see the Conductor, no, nothing like that), but Grooves doesn’t think dating the Conductor would be bad  _ at all _ . The Conductor is a handsome bird, in his own way, with bright feathers and a rugged look about him that is, personally, very alluring to Grooves. He’s someone who Grooves can honestly see would be a joy to date.

Maybe that’s just his crush rising up again.

The penguin glances over at the Conductor, who is currently trying to feed Russell, the chick refusing to eat his bits of bacon. How was Grooves supposed to know that living with the other director would make him get more of a crush on him? Even when the Conductor is sad, he keeps pushing himself for his grandchildren. That alone warms Grooves, whose own family situation is...complicated.

His unsupportive family used to be a constant thing in his life, when he was growing up. They were never abusive in any way, never hit him or anything like that, but...well, their disappointment was obvious. Whenever he preferred more colorful clothes or he would prefer the company of men over women. And then, when it became obvious that Grooves had no desire to marry down with a woman and be miserable, their jabs had become more hurtful, more personally, until finally they told him he had to choose them or his lifestyle.

And now here he is years later, fondly watching an old owl care for his grandchildren and they aren’t even dating. He sighs and rubs his face.

“Ye okay?” The Conductor mumbles, ears flicking. He keeps his attention to Russell, but Grooves knows he’s listening to him now.

“Hmm...yeah, just,” He struggles briefly to think of what he could possibly say, settling on, “thinking.”

Thinking on how he could have almost kissed the Conductor. Why did he do that? Ugh, he couldn’t help it, not when Amos is...like this. Handsome, nice in his own horrible way.

But they definitely can’t do what they did last night again. It would just hurt Grooves even more and he knows for sure the Conductor won’t feel great about it later either. He needs to help distract the owl another way, some other way to help him with his grief.

His eyes trail over to the photos on the wall, catching one that features the Conductor and his old bandmates. He stares at it for a second before clearing his throat, “So…’bout your old band.”

His ears flick as he finally gets Russell to eat his food. The young child makes a face, but seems happy enough that he’s finally allowed out of his high chair. Grooves continues, “You know...I really do think you should give them a call.”

“I don’t.” He huffs, taking the plates to the sink. Grooves watches him before standing up and following him.

“Oh, come on, what’s the worst that could happen?” He turns the sink on for Amos, who scowls him before nudging him away.

“Yelling, embarrassin’ meself, getting into a fight, they don’t remember me-” He starts to ramble off, causing the penguin to roll his eyes before he leans against the counter.

“Doubtful. As someone who’s known you for years, you’re unforgettable.” He can’t help but smile at how the Conductor’s feathers puff out, his face getting red. He’s always loved the sight of it, how easy it was to fluster someone like him, someone so angry all the time.

“Okay, fine, invite them here and do  _ what _ ?” He mutters, shoving plates into the sink.

“I mean, you have a grill for some reason.” Grooves hums, glancing outside to where that grill sits. He had been surprised to see it when moving, not at all remember the Conductor owning one or ever mentioning it. It’s not in bad condition at all, still looking clean.

The Conductor looks over at it, pausing as his ears flick before he shakes his head. “That’s a lot of work.”

“You make movies and do your own stunts. How is  _ grilling food  _ more work?” He squints at the Conductor, only to blink as the owl faces him and pats his face, a cheeky smirk on his face as he says, “ _ Talkin’  _ to people is work, luv.”

His own face heats up now because of the nickname, furrowing his brows as the Conductor just keeps smirking, going back to washing his dishes. He clicks his beak, trying to think of what else he could say to the other, needing him to understand this is for his own good. Just ignoring things isn’t going to help him, Grooves would know.

“They should know about Ronnie at least.” Grooves watches as the Conductor freezes, his ears slowly drooping down against his head before he looks at Grooves. The penguin feels bad about doing this, but it’s true. “You said Reggie helped you with her, right? And having others here would help you.”

Conductor keeps looking at him, not saying anything. Grooves squirms and says, “Please, Amos, I’m sure they would at least love to see the kids. Can you at least try?”

A long sigh comes from him, as he moves away from the sink. Grooves frowns as he watches him sit at the table, rubbing his face for a moment before he wipes his hands on pants. “...Fine, I’ll call them. But you owe me.”

“You do this, I promise I won’t complain if you cook chicken.” He offers the Conductor a smile, who scoffs at him before saying, “Fine, deal.”


	9. friends and booze leading to this

It had been awkward, as predicted. It was odd hearing their voices again on the phone, when he had listened to them for hours when he was younger. In college, it had been them who had urged him on, let him drag his camera around. And he does feel bad about not keeping in touch, even if he knows the reason makes sense.

The Conductor doesn’t come from a family that was ever well off in money. A lot of his income went into caring for his daughter and mother, and he never questioned that. Even years later, he saves his money as much as he can, frugal as he can be in case the grandchildren need it. He’s trained himself to be prepared for that sort of thing, like the time his mother needed surgery, or Ronnie wanted to go to college, or when Atticus got a cold. The Conductor always has money stashed away in case he needs it for his family. And, when he started making actual movies that made him a good amount, he pushed himself to do them over and over again, so even if one flops, he has money for his kin.

Doing that makes...talking to friends a little difficult. And yet, here he is, the next day after talking to them, trying to bury down his nervousness as he tries to clean. The wee ones are all in a play pen, chirping and trying to peek out at him or Grooves in the living room. 

He glances over at the penguin, feeling his heart clench a bit at the sight of him picking up Dahlia, nuzzling her beak and laughing. He’s honestly much better with his grandchildren than he expected… Grooves has never really mentioned raising children, and he knows that family isn’t really a thing the penguin likes to discuss. He gets it, sort of, knew plenty of folks in the past who weren’t as lucky as him, didn’t have a mother like his who, when she heard his new name and heard he liked to be referred to as a man, she simply nodded and asked him if her son would like to help her cook dinner.

Lordy, he misses her, his mother was a firecracker of a woman. Loud and as stubborn as him, someone who would work and work until she got sick. Hard work always pays off, according to her. Even on her final days, she had been moving around, cleaning, doing something with her hands. She always said that if she ever stopped moving, she wouldn’t be able to move again. And, he supposes, in a way she was right.

The doorbell rings and the Conductor can’t help how his hands tense up, looking over at the door with his ears perked as he mentally debates answering it. He feels Grooves touching his back, gently urging him forward.

A part of him wants to shake his head and say this is a bad idea, and another part of him is desperate to have those old connections again.

The Conductor opens the door and instantly he recognizes Phil. The crocodile looks at him, those yellow eyes squinting at him before he seems to recognize him and he smiles. The Conductor counts three new gold teeth and he can’t help it when his own smile rises up as he says, “Well ain’t ye a sight for sore eyes, did you get into  _ more  _ scraps while I wasn’t around?”

A booming laugh comes from Phil, all too familiar to the owl. “Shut it, at least I ain’t gettin’ grays like you. Ya look like something a cat dragged in.”

“At least I don’t look like I belong on a wee pair of boots! Bloody hell, ye even more leathery than I remember.” He snickers, and realizes too late that Grooves is giving him an all too familiar smug look, smirking away as if to say  _ I told you so. _ He’s ready to tell him to shove it when Phil shifts and Conductor now sees the plover bird behind him, a skinny fella who glances between him and Phil.

“Ah, right, sorry, this here is Tony.” Phil clears his throat, Tony reaching down to shake the Conductor’s hand.

“Phil’s dentist. And husband.” The bird hums, dark eyes darting between him and Grooves. “Are you-”

“No.” The Conductor puts a quick stop to that, and ignores the looks both Phil and Grooves gives him as he ushers everyone inside. “I never got married.”

That seems to satisfy Tony, who occupies himself with pictures. Phil stays near the Conductor, murmuring, “Ah, good ol’ Tony. Guy doesn’t like talking much, but trust me, he’s the whole package...anyway, we brought some goanna with us. Doubted ya had any and Reggie has been on a big lizard crave lately.”

“You all kept in touch?” He asks and rubs his arm. He had assumed that, maybe, they had been like him, that life just got in the way. But Phil nods and confirms that, unlike him, they know how to manage their lives. “Yeah, Reggie kinda made sure of that...don’t do that pouty thing ya do, we understood.”

Phil sniffs and heads out to the yard, having spotted the grill. The Conductor follows him, his ears twitching as he snaps, “What do you mean?”

“Oh, shove it, Amos. I can tell when ya start to do that whole weird self thing ya do. Listen, ya had a kid, and an actual job unlike us at the time. We understood, man. Besides, not like we couldn’t ever see you.” Phil looks over the grill, nodding with satisfaction at it, “Ya have any garlic? This meat goes real good with it.”

“What? Yes, I mean-” He frowns as the croc just starts messing with the grill, starting to light the fire inside of it. “I...okay, fine. Sure. You’re fine with it, I can believe that. But everyone else?”

Phil rolls his eyes. “Listen, we all got stuff, okay? And yeah, maybe at first folks were mad, but I can tell ya they got over it ages ago...besides, they’re real excited to see you. And Reggie is going to spoil those little biters in there, let me tell ya.” He shakes his head with a chuckle.

The Conductor stares as Phil works on making food, baffled at the news. He had...expected more anger, to be frank. More rage, fighting even. He didn’t think they’d be so forgiving to him, especially when he doesn’t deserve it.

“...And, hey, Amos, I’m sorry about Ronnie. She was a real bright kid.” Phil tells him, glancing at him. The owl sighs, but nods, accepting the sympathy. He wishes he had spoken to them all sooner, knowing that Ronnie would have loved to see them all again, even if she had been so little the last time.

As Phil continues to cook, others show up. Reggie and her young son Geoffrey, who is barely sprouted up as a teenager. The lioness is silver now, patches of gold along her fur, and her eyes as bright as ever. The second she sees the Conductor, she hugs him tightly, a purr rising from her before she gets distracted with the grandchildren, cooing over them, her tail whipping about as she lets them play with her. And then Levi, wool still as long as ever and a plump sheep clinging to his arm with a huge smile on her face and a wee babe in her arms, as wooly as her parents. Levi and his wife Louise bring the most food, at least the most vegetables anyway.

The owl glances as Levi coos over his daughter Bonnie, his ears flicking as Phil leans over and chuckles, “Their first kid.”

It’s calming to have them here, honestly. A familiarity he can cling to, with Ronnie now being gone. In a way, he can pretend this is back when he was in college, just starting to get comfortable with himself and always around one of his friends. Ronnie would still just be a tiny chick, barely able to talk as one of them fawned over her. He can pretend she’s still just a small chick, instead of dead.

He lets himself drink now, because it helps with burying down the thoughts of her, to just cling to those memories instead. The taste and burn of alcohol is a wonderful friend to him right now, when he can choose them over the hurtful reminders.

“So, who’s the penguin?” Levi asks him this after dinner, when it’s just the old crew at the table, as partners and children and Grooves are somewhere else. The owl can’t rightfully say where they are, staring down at his glass of...he thinks this might be beer?

“DJ?” He mumbles, glancing up at them. Levi and Reggie are both smiling, as if knowing him. Phil just glances at him, his hands shuffling something. Cards, he realizes. Did they decide to play cards?

“Mhm, you know, Amos, I didn’t think you’d ever settle down. Especially with a looker like him.” Reggie chuckles her warm laugh and the Conductor can just imagine her years ago, fur more colorful and smoking a cigarette.

His ears flick at the comment. Settle down? Has he settled down? Is this what it feels like? Painful? Constantly remembering his little girl Veronica? Thinking about how he would have done things differently? “We ain’t nothin’.”

His words are slurred, and a small part of him, a voice in his head that sounds like Grooves tells him he should slow down on drinking. He chugs the beer, what he thinks is beer. He realizes it’s whiskey.

“You sure like looking at him for something called nothing.” Levi lifts his wool up, just to wiggle his eyebrows. He used to do that all the time back in college, and if anyone said get a haircut, he’d just tell them sod off.

“You two sure do make a couple.” Phil nods and hums, and there are cards being laid out in front of him. The numbers are hard to read now, as he shakily picks them up. He drinks more, wants to drink more, wants his head to stop pounding so he can just focus on this and not how it’s his fault.

“I should have been around more.” He mutters into his cards, feeling a hand on his back. He has no idea when that hand got there, or when Phil started looking at him all worried. He has no idea when his bottle got moved away by Reggie, or when Levi moved closer. He wants to pout and just drink, not think about Ronnie. He doesn’t want to think about this right now.

The world is wobbly as he stands up, lines blending together. This house barely has any color in it, he realizes, and Ronnie would hate it. She’d want to paint it, something bright and colorful. Her least favorite color was white, because it was such a boring thing, reminded her of documents and papers. She hated documents, hated hearing typing and writing, hated it when he would work so much. He can remember a fight they had when she was a teenager and he was just breaking through in movies, when he won his first award. He had gotten sick soon after and she threw such a fit, telling him that he was going to kill himself working like that.

He had just been so excited, knew he could really make something good if he kept pushing. His mother always told him hard work paid off and he believed her, and he always kept working, because he could provide for his family if he did so. He should be the one dead, not Ronnie. She was the one who constantly asked him to take a break, why isn’t he the one dead right now?

He wonders if maybe he is dying, staring up at the ceiling. He’s on the floor he realizes, and it’s so hard to really understand folks right now, everything being so dizzy. He sees Grooves looking at him, those pretty blue eyes staring at him and he wants to kiss Grooves so bad right now, wants to hold him and listen to that nice voice of his.

Instead, the Conductor passes out.


	10. waking up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: the letter thing mentioned this chapter is a real thing that my own therapist mentioned to me and as someone who has dealt with various griefs (both from disowning family and losing a family member I love), I can guarantee it does help and suggest it to everyone who may be dealing with something similar.

DJ Grooves watches as the Conductor wakes up hours later, when the sun has long since risen and the children are being watched by his old bandmates. Grooves watches from a chair he pulled up to the bed, as the owl grumbles and slowly seems to realize where he is, what had happened.

“Bloody hell, did I drink a whole gallon?” He mutters, grumbling as he rubs his head.

“Seems like it.” He mumbles. 

Conductor sighs as he sinks into the bed, his head tilting up towards the ceiling. They're both quiet for a moment before Conductor looks at Grooves and says, "C'mere."

He shouldn't, probably. He also probably shouldn't have bought this house with him, or kissed him, or slept in his bed. There are a lot of things DJ Grooves should have done better.

But honestly, looking at Amos so tiredly, he can't think of anything better than laying next to him. He crawls into the bed and instantly Conductor has his hands on him, running through the feathers on his back as he gets above him. He expects to be kissed, dragged down. Instead, the Conductor nuzzles their beaks together, soft and gentle as he urges Grooves closer.

"Ye too nice." Conductor sighs against Grooves, who now preens him, rearranging his feathers and nipping along his jawline. "I don't deserve you."

It's strange to hear those words. Grooves is so used to never hearing them, used to being second best. A second choice. A distraction for someone. He knows that right now, this is just a distraction for Conductor, even as he cups his face and kisses him sweetly.

"I don't care what you deserve." He mumbles between their kissing, tasting alcohol and smoke on the Conductor, trying to speak and memorize how he tastes, "Isn't liking you enough?"

The owl goes quiet, burying his face into Grooves' chest instead. They end up curled together on the bed, and Grooves keeps Conductor close to him as he keeps preening him, comforting him. He's terrified, in a way, of what all of this means. He knows the Conductor is sinking, feels trapped, and he wants to help him. Even if he doesn't really know how.

"When...I was younger, and dealing with...the whole grief of family, my therapist suggested writing a letter." Grooves speaks carefully, quietly, feeling awkward to admit he had a therapist in his life. He doesn't anymore, since he has a much better support network now, but in the earlier years…

When he had first disowned his family, it had been hard. There were days he wanted to call them and apologize, say it was his fault. He wanted to yell at them. He wanted to brag about his own life. And there were days he missed them, more than anything. Missed his mother's voice and father's prideful voice whenever he did something they liked. So many days were spent staring at his phone as he debated calling them, wanting to say anything to them.

In the end, his friends pushed for a therapist and his therapist helped him. Just talking about it felt relieving, even more so when they had given Grooves suggestions on how to deal with it. Writing a letter had been the one he remembers most, from everything he had written to keeping them in a box for years. Even now, he has them stashed away in his closet.

"Family?" Conductor mumbles, his head lifting from Grooves' chest as his ears flick.

"When I disowned them." It's easy to say and he knows the Conductor doesn't judge him. A noise of acknowledgement comes from the owl.

"...it helped?" He whispers and Grooves nods. The Conductor mutters, "...Maybe later-"

"Amos." Grooves sighs. He feels Conductor flinch and he feels bad, but he presses their heads together, mumbling, "Please."

"...Take me to dinner first."

Grooves blinks at the suggestion, surprised. He frowns and furrows his brows, looking at the Conductor who's blushing. He waits for him to clarify, only to say, "What," when no explanation comes.

"You...like me, right? So, ah, dinner first. I wanna be out of here. And then I'll write that blasted letter."

"A date." He can't hide his smile, feeling giddy suddenly. Amused and confused at the same time, and his affection for the other grows as he spots a shy smile on Conductor.

"Maybe."

"No, it's a date."

The Conductor huffs, his smile remaining as Grooves kisses his cheek, urging him to say, "Fine, fine, yes. A date. Take me on a date and treat me like how ye treat all your lil dates."

"I'll treat you better." Grooves kisses the corner of his mouth, smiling brightly as Conductor tilts his head and they kiss fully now. Small chirps leave the owl, making Grooves coo and bring him closer, adoring those small noises Conductor makes.

"You sure?" He asks him between the kissing, as Conductor tugs on his coat to keep him close. He nods quickly, muttering, "They can watch the kids, yeah? They owe me for lettin' me drink so much."

"I doubt they're the ones to blame." Grooves hums and the Conductor shushes him with another kiss.


	11. you comfort me

If you ever asked the Conductor if he gets nervous, he’d laugh in your face. Him? Nervous? No, he’s one of the best known action stars in the Western genre, he’s loud and able to do his own stunts, his movies are praised for their cinematography in high tense scenes. The Conductor does not get nervous.

And yet, here he is, staring at himself in the bathroom and feeling like a thousand butterflies are kicking him in the stomach. He hasn’t felt like this in years, not since he’s been known as Amos. He almost wants to back out of it, say it’s a horrible idea...but the mere idea of giving up something sets him off in a bad way and the owl ends up growling at himself.

“Get a bloody hold of yerself.” He mutters. It’s only a date, so what? He’s been on dates before. Sort of. And he’s just going on a date with Grooves.

Bloody hell.

He sighs and splashes water on his face, dreading the embarrassment that is sure to happen. DJ Grooves has probably gone on lots of dates, just look at the penguin. Gorgeous feathers, pretty eyes, nice hair, only a little bit of gray showing up even at his age. Hell’s bells, Grooves ages like fine wine compared to...whatever the hell Amos is aging like. Spoiled milk, if he had to give it any kind of phrase. 

His last date was...ugh, in high school, if he even bothers calling it a date. He had been wide eyed and got crushes real easy back then, dressing up more girly than usual for it because he had read blokes liked that. He can’t even remember the guy’s name, Conductor having shoved that memory as: a waste of time. The only good thing to come of it was Ronnie months later.

Conductor doesn’t even know if these clothes are good enough, really. Button up and tie is good, right?

He groans.

Even if he feels awful, and he honestly has no idea if this is good enough for Grooves, he still has to do this. It’ll be nice to get out of this house and to try and not think about how bad these few days have been. Besides, he already told his friends he was doing it and if he backs out now, they’d rag on him the rest of the night. 

He steps out of the house, surprised to see DJ already waiting by the car. His heart leaps up into his throat at the sight of him. His hair is in a low but, a silk shirt unbuttoned on him (of course it is), and his feathers shine beautifully this night. He has no sunglasses on, giving the Conductor a nice view of those lovely blue eyes that glance over at him.

"Nice." Is the first thing out of his beak. He clears his throat and tries again, "You. I mean. You look nice."

DJ chuckles at him, opening the car door for him. "You clean up well, darling."

The compliment has him blushing, his face feeling hot as he sits down in the car. The car is some fancy moon model, likely brought over here with Grooves himself. Buttons light up and are a rainbow of colors, the dashboard sleek and showing things on a smooth screen. He notices the disc reader, and watches as Grooves gets into the driver seat and presses buttons next to it.

The music that plays is, predictably, heavily disco. His ears twitch as he hears the synthesizer, the electric rhythm guitars so popular in that genre. Before DJ, the Conductor had barely ever heard disco, though he never was a fan of going out to the clubs when it was popular. He sinks down in his seat, stealing glances at Grooves as the music keeps playing, as the penguin smiles and taps the steering wheel of his car.

“So...where are we going?” He didn’t ask DJ before, knowing it would have made him more nervous.

“Dinner. I know a place.” Grooves hums, still smiling even as the Conductor’s ears flick and he looks out the window instead.

He’s still so baffled by this date, still a bit unsure why he asked for this in exchange for...later writing to Ronnie. Maybe because it’s exciting, because he wants to feel something again akin to joy, and he knows Grooves makes him happy. As weird as that is to admit.

He should, rightfully, despise Grooves. The penguin certainly has angered him several times during their careers, and he’s lost count to the number of times they’ve got into screaming matches. But, hell, there isn’t another person in the world who burns him alive like DJ does. The penguin can so easily fluster him, so smug about it, and makes his heart feel like some kind of bloated lamp ready to explode. He wants to fight and kiss him, call him an idiot while also telling him how he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

And these past few days have made the, ah, romantic feelings build up even more. There’s something calming about Grooves. The way he smells, how he talks, how he says nothing when Conductor leans against him. It’s comforting that he has this, after losing so much, after losing someone who was his world.

Veronica was the reason he did anything at times. He still remembers the feelings years ago, chugging down drinks in order to hide that hollowness inside him. Ronnie was the reason he didn’t drown in that sorrow, that he kept going. Because the idea of leaving her alone, of hurting her like that, it cut him too deep.

He has his grandchildren now, and...he has Grooves now, he thinks. He glances over at him again and this time he catches him, smiling and grabbing his hand to hold. It makes him feel giddy and he squeezes Grooves’ hand, swallowing.

He can get through this.


	12. a simple thing that helps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, it's meant a lot to me <3 I'm so sorry this one updated so much slower. Things happen. But I really do love and appreciate all the support. Very short epilogue, but felt it would be nice.

_ 10 Years Later _

Atticus McConnell, in his opinion as a growing teenager, deals with a lot. Oldest of the Six (as Uncle Phil likes to call them), failing math, and dealing with his crush on his best friend is a lot. Too much, really, and he loathes the idea of getting older and dealing with even more things.

“Ye  _ broke  _ it!”

“I did  _ not _ !”

It doesn’t help that he also has to deal with every little thing his siblings does. As the oldest, it’s his responsibility to stop fights. At least, he assumes it is. Because he honestly will go crazy if he has to listen to Harper and Callum screaming up the whole house. This family is already loud enough with Granda yellin’ and Pepaw singing, or Dahlia trying to learn how to play a bass and Sorely playing games loudly- in fact, everyone in this house is just naturally loud. So, really, they don’t need fighting among siblings to top it off.

The owl sighs as he opens the door, and both Harper and Callum instantly shut up, glaring daggers at each other and their feathers all ruffled and ears flat. Between them is a golden trophy, bent and broken.

“Ah, jeez, way to go.” Atticus grumbles, picking the award up. Instantly Harper is yelling, “It ain’t my fault! Cal was buggin’ me-”

“Ya wouldn’t let me see it!” Callum quickly yells in Atticus’ ear, the owl pushing him back as his ears flick.

“Just reach for it.” Harper mocks and Callum screams, “You know I ain’t tall enough!”

It’s true, Callum is the shortest of the siblings, even smaller than Granda, who has always been a short owl. Atticus is, amazingly, the tallest in the family, taller than both his grandparents (though he knows he’s very lanky and that is another thing that lowkey stresses him out).

“What the peck are ye all yellin’ for?!”

Atticus flinches as he hears the sound of Granda, turning to face him with his ears flat. Callum and Harper are very quick to hide behind him, and their grandfather just huffs at the sight of Atticus holding a broken award. “What? That bloody thing? We got plenty.”

He scoffs as he grabs it, moving over to his closet so he can shove it aside somewhere in there. Atticus watches, and his eyes dart around in the small space, wondering if maybe-

There, he spots it, a dusty photo album that he easily recognizes. It’s been ages since he last saw it, because of everyone just being busy, but he knows that book well. He knows the handwriting of his mother is in there, photos of her, and it takes so much for him to not just grab it and hold it close.

“Can we look at it today?” He ends up asking before he thinks. He regrets it the second he sees Granda freeze up, hands shaking as he steadies himself on the rim of the door. Everyone knows what Atticus is talking about, and his two younger brothers look up at the album as well.

“...Sure.” His granda is quiet, as he grabs it, and Atticus follows him to the living room. He knows, in a way, it’s childish for him to feel so fond of that book, but it’s what he has of his mother.

He sometimes dreams of her, of soft feathers and the scent of pumpkin, of a yard of sand and someone singing so softly to him. He wonders if she would like him, would be proud of him. This book gives him hope that she would, based on how she was.

Pepaw is already in the living room, watching some baking show with Sorely who has gotten obsessed with those shows. Atticus cringes at the sight of some kind of weird cake on screen, where people are supposed to replicate some other cake. Pepaw glances up at them when they walk in. Granda sits next to him without a word and the penguin has his arm around him quickly.

Sorely quickly realizes what is happening and he turns the television off, saying, “Should I go get Dahlia and Rusty?” Atticus nods at him.

The family huddles in the living room, as Granda opens the book. He slowly shows the photos of their mother, Ronnie. Of when she was little, when she was a teenager, when she was older. Atticus listens closely, feeling warm as this is shared with him. He finds comfort in how Granda speaks of Mom, how soft his usual scratchy voice gets.

Atticus McConnell deals with a lot of things, but at least he can find comfort in this, the memory of his mother that his grandfather shares.


End file.
